


Amaria

by CrazyDaysLikeThese



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, I hate spoilers, Marks, Mystery, Original Character(s), Series Rewrite, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tags will be added as we go, written because I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyDaysLikeThese/pseuds/CrazyDaysLikeThese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates and their accompanying marks are funny and fickle things. The basic rule of soulmates is deceptively simple: if you have a mark, you have a mate.  Unfortunately, as with all things that man meddles in, the very nature of humanity means that complications inevitably ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Renegades

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I tailor my stories to what my audience enjoys best. This time I'm shamelessly tailoring the story to what I want. It's my stress relief after a long week at work, so it might be dark at times or it might be silly at others. It'll explore the different ideals of love and romance and heartache. The only thing that I can promise it will be is consistent to human nature as a whole. 
> 
> In short: We're all mad here. 
> 
> The title of this story is "Amaria", inspired by the song by Two Steps From Hell. Amaria is loosely translated to mean "loving". Something that we all define so similarly... and yet with such vast differences at times. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is un-beta'd. I try to catch as many of the mistakes as I can, but I know I don't catch all of them. I apologize ahead of time if any interfere with your understanding of what is written.

**Chapter 1**

_ Renegades _

__

_“Long live the pioneers_  
_Rebels and mutineers_  
 _Go forth and have no fear_  
 _Come close the end is near”_

_\- X Ambassadors_

               Soulmates and their accompanying marks are funny and fickle things. The basic rule of soulmates is deceptively simple: if you have a mark, you have a mate. 

               Unfortunately, as with all things that man meddles in, the very nature of humanity means that complications inevitably ensue.

*~*

               To be self-defined is to rebel against all concepts of destiny and fate. For Dinah Laurel Lance, it meant that she could care less the moment she finally saw the fully developed soul mark delicately scrolling across her left shoulder blade. Her mother saw it as she combed her hair after a bath and teared up in joy, but Laurel – with her infinite wisdom at the tender age of eight – merely rolled her eyes and asked “What’s the point?”

               Her mother had gaped at her, uncertain of just what to say. “Sweetheart, this means you have a soulmate,” she said slowly, just in case her daughter’s education had somehow missed that very important fact of life.

               “So?” Laurel responded.

               Her mother continued to stare at her, very confused.

               Laurel huffed and pointed out “You love dad and he isn’t your soulmate. So why does it matter?”

               Dinah sat back with a sigh. It was true that Quentin was not her soulmate. It was also true that she didn’t _have_ a soulmate. Both her and Quentin were unmarked. She looked down at her oldest daughter and found that she couldn’t deny her logic.

               “I guess it doesn’t really. If you find them and are happy, that’s good. But if you don’t find them, and are still happy,” Dinah smiled, “that’s good too.”

               Laurel smiled hesitantly at her mom and sat up a little straighter.

               Sara burst into the room and saw the mark. “No fair!” the little blonde girl shouted. “Yours is prettier than mine!”

               “What?” Dinah cried, leaping up as Laurel groaned and hid her face in her hands.

               Leave it to Sara to make a big deal out of things.

*~*

               It isn’t easy being a disillusioned nine-year-old, but Tommy Merlyn managed it with an aplomb that his father would find absolutely incredible – if he ever noticed.

               After his mother died, Tommy was forced to stand back and watch as her soulmate fell apart and seemed to drift away from the world. When he finally disappeared, Tommy honestly never expected him to return. Every day, Tommy lived with an anticipation of the call telling him that his father had followed in his mother’s footsteps and left him alone as the last Merlyn.

               When his father came back, calmer and healthier, Tommy had barely been able to overcome his wonder and joy. After all, his father was back and was _there_. Tommy wasn’t really going to have to live alone as the last Merlyn.

               The joy faded though, at the first signs of his father’s apathy and the sudden lack of everything colorful about his father. It had all been replaced with a biting shill that frightened Tommy as a child and chased him away from his father as he grew older. His father wasn’t the man he’d been before his mother died and he wasn’t the man he’d been after she died. Instead, he was something new and foreign and strange and Tommy never could figure out how to reconcile with that.

               When he was eleven, he made himself a promise. He was never going to hand his heart over to someone else, destiny or not. He was _never_ going to be his father. Tommy couldn’t imagine some woman out there being worth _that_.

               So when he was eighteen, he spent an excessive amount of time and money trying to have the iridescent mark removed.

               It was a fruitless endeavor, having surgeons outright refuse to remove the mark due to the invasiveness of the surgery required. Never mind the fear of the effect it would have on Tommy and the unknown individual he was attached to and none of the many other tattoo removal techniques worked even a little bit. Instead of the mark being removed after two years of trying, Tommy was left with a little bit of scarring and a mark as vibrant as ever.

               He was twenty when he finally saw the match to his mark and he will never be certain if he should have been appalled or relieved over finally knowing.

*~*

               Thea thought that when she displayed her family’s tendency of having marks in very awkward and visible places, things might be getting better.

               It finally appeared three weeks after the burial of her father’s and brother’s empty caskets. While twelve was late for a mark to appear, it wasn’t unheard of. It’s after puberty when the likelihood of ‘getting’ a mark almost completely disappears. There have been a few stories of it happening, but as far as Thea could tell, they were just stories. Themes frequently and over-used in romantic movies.

               It was something she was foolishly glad of for Oliver. He never had a mark, something she suspected Laurel liked a little too much. Thea never said anything to Laurel, but the young girl was glad her brother didn’t leave anyone behind like that. Like her father left her mother behind. It was too cruel to watch and she was selfishly glad that she’d only have to watch it happening once. She had enough o deal with, what with half her family suddenly gone and one of them being stupid enough to take his girlfriend’s _sister_ with him.

               So when Thea’s mark appeared, arching up from the directly over her heart to drape around her neck, Thea thought her life was going to get better. When the paparazzi got wind of it, she shamelessly displayed it, knowing it was a beautiful and extraordinary mark. Pictures of it would make their way around the world and all she would have to do was patiently wait for her soulmate to appear on her doorstep and everything would be ok. She’d be able to feel whole again.

               But he never came.

               Sure, she got calls and visitors, but none of them were _him_.

               As the years passed and no one ever came, Thea tried to tell herself that she didn’t care. That the increasingly provocative clothes she wore were just the style all her friends wore.

               That she was equally desperate to meet him  _and_ desperate to never know what was so wrong with her that he never came when she needed him.

*~*

               Moira was mid-conversation with Walter when the oddest expression crossed his face. It started as confusion and then slowly turned to horror. The most disconcerting part was where he was looking. He was looking at her neck. In fact, he was looking right where her mark…

               “Oh God, Moira,” Walter choked out, expression aghast.

               For a few long and unending seconds, Moira was frozen in her seat and her mind was locked in a firm denial of what her gut was telling her was causing Walter to feel the grief suddenly etched across his expression.

               When Walter reached out to touch her arm, she bolted. She was up and moving before she had a clear thought of where to go and blasted past several employees in her rush to get to the bathroom. She ignored the gasps and looks of shock that crossed their faces.

               When she finally reached the bathroom, she was just in time to see the last lines of her mark completely fade away.

               As far as research knew, there was only one way to make a soul mark fade. One reason for it to just disappear as if it never existed in the first place.

               Nausea rolled her stomach and she bent over the sink, trying to keep from retching as she squeezed her eyes shut.

               A warm hand appeared on her back and low murmurs filled her ears. Walter had followed her into the ladies room.

               When she finally open her eyes and looked at him through the tears, she wondered to herself how Walter had put himself back together when losing Robert – her mate – felt this _awful_.

               If he guessed her shameful thought, he never said. Instead, he helped her out of the bathroom and got her home, away from prying eyes and cameras and helped her start the first of many phone calls.

*~*

               After the doctor listed her son’s alarmingly extensive scarring, Moira was more than ready to go to him, doctor’s warnings be damned. Of course he wasn’t going to be the same man that left and was lost five years ago, but that didn’t change the fact that her _son_ was finally _home_.

               It was a beautiful fact that the well meaning man couldn’t seem to grasp.

                She kept herself calm and controlled and asked a final question. “Has he said anything about the mark?” It was a bold mark on the back of his neck. Rather impossible to hide, as usual for the Queens.

               “Only that it appeared while he was on the island. He has no knowledge of who it could be.”

               Moira then asked very hesitantly, “He’s so old for it to now appear… Is that normal?” She wanted to ask if it was safe, for everyone involved.

               Shaking his head, the doctor told her frankly “No, it isn’t. I’ve never heard of it appearing on someone over the age of fifteen. But, nevertheless, the mark is unmistakable and normal in and of itself.” He sighed. “Finding his match will likely be easy with where the mark is placed, but I urge you to keep his mental health in mind if the decision is made to seek the individual out.”

               She nodded slowly. “May I see him now, or is there anything else?”

               “No, there’s nothing else.”

               As she walked through the door, she was reminded that her first thought when she saw her soon through the glass window has been that she didn’t recognize the man. He was the same height as her son, but stood straighter, taller. He was broader in the shoulders and his hair was so short.

               His mark stood out against the nape of his neck. It was a design similar to Thea’s, but covering a much smaller area. The broad, curling strokes stayed close together and trailed underneath his shirt collar and reached up to his hair line. While a dress shirt could cover most of it, it would be impossible to keep a secret for very long.

              “Oliver,” she said quietly. Gently.

              He turned around and she saw him. She saw her boy written all over that face. That face that she saw change as he grew, and yet the best features always stayed the same.

              “Mom,” he said softly, eyes glimmering with emotion.

              Her vision blurred briefly as he stepped closer, but she blinked it away and forced the tears back. “Oh… My beautiful boy.”

              And then he was in her arms. 


	2. Binary Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I feared, updates will initially be a bit more spaced out than I'd like. Of course, that's what happens when a person works full time, attends graduate classes full time, and volunteers. Yep, I'm crazy. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly a rewrite of the pilot episode with a few small, but very important changes. I expect the next couple of chapters to not be rewrites of the episodes, and might even skip episodes. As a general rule, if I don't write about it then it happened the way it was originally shown in the applicable episode. 
> 
> Until my writing schedule evens out, my chapters will be unbeta'd - it's fairer that way, I think. So I only have myself to blame for any and all mistakes.

**Chapter 2**

_ Binary Sea _

_Oh Atlas could not understand_ __  
The world was so much smaller than  
The one he used to hold before  
But the weight it brought him to the floor  
As you watched him struggle to his feet  
You took photos capturing his defeat  
And messaged them to all your friends  
And we all laughed at his expense

_\- Death Cab For Cutie_

              After the surprisingly cool greeting to Walter, Moira was relieved by Oliver’s sudden warmth to Raisa and his easy joy when Thea bounced down the stairs.

              “Hey sis,” he said.

              Thea was nearly in tears even as she grinned at him. “I knew it. I knew you were alive,” she declared as she wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. “I missed you so much.”

              “You were with me the whole time,” he assured her, reveling in the feeling of her in his arms again. It was different, she was different and so was he, but everything else was the same. The sound of her voice and even the scent of her hair from her favorite shampoo triggered happy memories from years ago.

              She pulled back so she could stare at his face some more. Her eyes dropped to below his chin and she twisted her neck closer to get a better look. “Oh, Ollie,” she whispered. “You’ve got a mark.”

              “So do you,” he said as he reached up and brushed her bare collarbone next to her own mark. “Of course you would have a mark as big and bright as you are,” he said with a soft smile.

              She smirked at him, but he noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. “If that’s the case, then I’m surprised at how small yours is. Might make you a little hard to find.”

              His smile tightened. “Yeah, I think I’ll worry about that after I get declared alive again.”

              Thea grinned. “Good idea. Though, the publicity might mean you get to shoot two birds with one stone.”

              “Oh really?” Oliver asked, falling back on the easy bantering tone. “I guess that must have worked out for you. When do I get to meet the guy destined to make my baby sister happy?”

              There was a sudden, tense quiet behind him.

              He didn’t try to break it. Instead, he waited for someone else to react, to give him another clue.

              It was Thea who finally did, behaving as if the seconds of silence never happened. “You’ll know when I do,” she told him.

              “Oliver, Thea,” Moira’s voice caught their attentions. “Dinner will be in about an hour. Perhaps you two would like to get cleaned up first?”

              “Sounds like a good idea,” Oliver said. He stepped back down the steps and lifted up his case. “I missed hot showers.”

              His aim for levity didn’t hit perfectly. Walter smirked, but his mother gave him a barely concealed wince at the reminder of his time on the island.

              When he walked into his room, Oliver saw that his mother had not been kidding. She really hadn’t changed anything, as far as he could tell. It was more disconcerting than he’d thought it would be. The bathroom had already been restocked with what used to be his favorite products. Now, the strong chemical scents nearly made him grimace.

              It took him a while to figure out what was wrong. It wasn’t until he looked into the mirror that’s he’d grown up with that he realized – he was the one that had changed.

              He knew this, long before he’d fired that burning arrow to trigger the signal for the fishermen to see. He knew he’d changed, but… he’d not yet been confronted by that fact in this manner. Here he was, home and free to be Oliver Queen again, yet he wasn’t the same Oliver Queen as before.

So here he was.

A stranger in a familiar place.

He dressed and drifted downstairs, curious to see what his mother had changed while he was gone. Walter’s presence was certainly interesting.

The pictures were mostly the same, including one of him and his father when he was just a boy. It had been moved from its usual place in his father’s office to out in the front foyer. Maybe someone wanted it out as a reminder. It was a good picture. He liked it.

The front door opened, and Oliver instinctively knew who it was, even before the man spoke.

“What did I tell you?” Tommy asked. “Yachts suck.”

Oliver turned to face his very dear friend. “Tommy Merlyn.”

Tommy grabbed him. “I missed you buddy.”

*~*

              While overjoyed at the return of one of the lost Queens, Walter was not a foolish man. He was not blind, naïve, ignorant, or inexperienced. Naturally cautious, Walter was aware that springing his marriage to Oliver’s mother on the man immediately might not be a good idea. However, he was equally aware that _not_ telling him might be an even worse idea.

              The plan was to tell him after dinner.

              Walter has a vague feeling that the wrench in that plan was actually thrown by him. And all because of a few sentences spoken in Russian.

              Oliver had actually been quite welcoming, beyond the guarded greeting at the door. It wasn’t until the harmless question of where Oliver learned Russian that the younger man lashed out. And lashing out wasn’t quite the wording. An abrupt and effective change of subject is truly what it was. And Oliver was the only one to get the answers he wanted. 

              Later that night, when Walter and Moira heard the shouts down the hall, he first thought they had an intruder. When he realized it was _just_ Oliver he heard, Moira had already gone out the door.

              He followed her, but didn’t catch up with her in time to stop her from the touching the young man, who was sleeping on the floor – his heart twisted at that, knowing it was because he wasn’t used to a _bed_ – and shaking with an obvious nightmare.

              There was movement and Walter blinked. Somehow in that span, Moira and Oliver’s positions had reversed, with Oliver’s body language decidedly more aggressive.

              “Oliver!” He shouted, crouching before him but very carefully not touching him or crowding it. It made him uneasy to watch Oliver’s eyes change as the recognition registered and regret and guilt took hold.

              Moira coughed roughly as Walter lifted her up and Oliver backed away quickly, hiding in front of the open window.

              He was near babbling apologies as Moira tried to reassure her son. Tried to tell him was home and that he was safe.

              It might have worked. Difficult to tell with the way Oliver’s face turned blank as he calmed down.

              That blank look haunted Walter as he went to bed, turning his typical two minutes of teeth brushing into nearly fifteen as he thought and wondered.

              “Why was he sleeping on the floor?” Moira asked as she too readied herself for bed.

              Walter shrugged. “I imagine because it is what his body is used to.”

              Moira shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand drifted up to her throat and rubbed the skin there gently.

              She looked up and caught his gaze in the mirror.

              He waited.

              Finally, she voiced the question on both their minds.

              “What else is he used to?”

*~*

              Tommy was full of ideas. He had lists – in his head _and_ on paper – of where to take Oliver. Of course, it would be the recently recovered castaway’s choice, but come on. Between the man who’d been gone five years, and the one who’d stayed, who had the better idea of where all the places to be were?

              “A rock, that is sweet!” Tommy said as he walked into Thea’s bedroom. “You know, I want one of those t-shirts that says ‘My friend was a castaway and all I got was this crappy shirt’.” Never let it be said that Tommy didn’t know how to ruin a perfectly good heart to heart.

              Thea shook her head. Looking back up at Oliver, she told him “Don’t let him get you into too much trouble. You just got back, so you get to take it slow.”

              Oliver hugged her, and Tommy cleared his throat. “The city awaits.” He declared softly.

              As they left the room, Tommy couldn’t resist one last remark “Have you noticed how hot your sister has gotten?”

              Ah, there it was. The patented big brother glare.

              “Because I haven’t.” Tommy was quick to add, hiding a grin when Oliver wasn’t looking. “Any place you want to go first? What did you miss the most – steaks at the Palm, drinks at the Station?” He paused meaningfully. “Meaningless sex?”  

              “Laurel.”

              Right. Tommy probably could have guessed that. Probably would have if not for the tell-tale lines curving along the back of Oliver’s neck.  “Right,” Tommy said. “You want to see the one person who isn’t happy you are alive. I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

              Once in the car, Tommy started the conversation delicately. “Your funeral blew.”

              Oliver gave him a sly look. “You get lucky?”

              “Fish in a barrel.”

              Oliver snorted, choked back a laugh.

              “They were so sad and huggy and I am counting on another target rich environment or you welcome home bash,” Tommy blithely informed him.

              Confused, Oliver asked “At my what?”

              Tommy grinned at him. “You came back from the dead. This calls for a party.” Tommy fell quiet for a moment. “Plus, you’re marked now, man.” He reached one hand out to flick at the collar of Oliver’s jacket. “How else are you supposed to find her?”

              Oliver batted his hand away. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.” He commented.

              “What on the fact that you could be the first individual marked after the tender age of fifteen known to man?” Tommy snorted. “What clued you in to that?” His hand fidgeted on the steering wheel.

              Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

              His friend gave him a weird, almost panicked look. “What do you mean?”

              “I mean that.” He pointed at Tommy. “What is it?”

              Tommy fell silent for several, appallingly long seconds. He licked his lips and debated saying what he really wanted to say.

              Oliver watched as his shoulders slumped as he came to a decision.

              “Laurel and I are dating,” he blurted.

              Eyebrows shooting up, Oliver sat up a little bit straighter. “What?”

              “Well, sort of.” Tommy clarified. “I’m actually trying to convince her to actively date me, but I have a feeling bringing you to see her isn’t going to do me any favors.”

              Gaping at him, Oliver took a moment to recover. “Um, no. Probably not.”

              They both climbed into the McLaren haphazardly parked in front of the mansion.

               With a small sigh, Oliver gave Tommy conspiratory look. “Are the steaks at the Palm still as good as I remember?”

              Every tooth was visible with the grin Tommy gave him. “Oh, my very dear friend. They are _better_.”

              The McLaren shot down the long drive and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction of CNRI and headed for the best cuts of beef the city had to offer.

*~*

              The problem with having plans is that things never seem to go exactly to plan for Oliver. What looks excellent and perfectly planed out on paper or in his head rarely stays so when employed in real life. It was a lesson that he should have learned before the island, but before the island the consequences were so much less… important.

              He supposed that was another thing he didn’t get to learn after growing up with money and influence.

              Oliver had only had a vague plan for the day, but already a significant part of it had been altered. He hadn’t thought about what Tommy and Laurel’s relationship might be like while he was gone. He certainly hadn’t expected them to start dating – or whatever it was they were doing.

              Part of Oliver ached over that, the same part that wanted to feel betrayed, but really could only be relieved that the people he cared about hadn’t stopped _living_ when they thought he was dead _._

              When they’d gotten to the restaurant, Tommy had been appalled when Oliver forewent his previous preference of a rare steak and order his medium.

              “I ate undercooked pheasant once on the island,” Oliver told Tommy after the waiter left. “I never made that mistake again. Couldn’t afford to.”

              Tommy winced as only Tommy could – with his full body. “Let’s save the rest of that conversation. For later. When there is no possibility of food being in front of me in the near future.”

              Oliver laughed, nodded.

              “So are you still wanting to swing by the office later?” Tommy asked after taking a healthy sip of his beer.

              Oliver copied him with a sip of his own. “Not so sure that is a good idea anymore.” He shrugged. “I can go and look around later.”

              “Tell you what, we’ll go for drinks after this. There’s a great new place that opened up not too long ago – had the _best_ opening by the way. The woman who coordinated that event was a genius.” Tommy waved his hands to emphasize.

              Oliver gave his friend a knowing smirk.

              Tommy pointed at it. “No. I wish, but no.”

              The other man just laughed.

              They never made it to drinks.

              Outside, men were waiting for them by Tommy’s vehicle. They were waiting in the shadows of the restaurant and around the other cars. They had weapons and wore garish red masks over their faces. If it weren’t for Tommy, weren’t for the drink he had in the restaurant, and weren’t for the fact that he had been so foolish as to relax in his home town, Oliver might have been able to fight back.

              Sure it would have blown his cover, but those were _real guns_ being pointed at _Tommy’s_ head. Not something Oliver ever wanted to see.

              Not again.  

*~*

              “Mr. Queen,” a voice snarled. “Mr. _Queen.”_

              Oliver heard his name being drawn out, knew it was meant to catch his attention, frighten him as he woke up. He lifted his head as the tranquilizers they’d shot him with finally cleared from his head a little bit.

              The bag was ripped off his head and a sparking stun gun shoved near his face.

              “Did your father survive that accident?”

              The question bothered him, deeply. He wasn’t going to answer, but still… he was bothered.

              Looking around, he caught sight of Tommy on an empty pallet, still out cold.

              That was good.

              He looked up at the man still holding the stun gun, knowing he wasn’t showing him the proper amount of fear that Oliver Queen should be showing.

              He began to strain his wrists against the zip ties holding them together.

              “I ask the questions and you give me the answers,” the man taunted.

              Oliver looked away, jaw clenched.

              The man looked at his partner, made a noise that seemed like a scoff. When he pressed the live stun gun to Oliver’s chest, he got the expected reaction from _that_.

*~*

              “Did your father make it to the island?” What was with this guy? When Max was hired for the job, he’d thought it would be pretty simple. Trust-fund baby stuck on an island for five years, might have some important information. Get him to talk. Easy enough.

              But this guy… the look in his eyes… It was bugging Max. Made his itch beneath his skin, like maybe he wasn’t told everything he needed to know for this job. It was a ridiculous thought, but it was there.

              Max zapped him again.

              He didn’t yell this time.

              Max was no longer so certain it was a ridiculous thought. Especially when Queen looked up at him, controlled. Angry, yes, but also controlled.

              Something Max had enough experience with to be baffled to find it now. With _this_ guy.

              “Yes, he did,” Queen answered.  

              Max knelt, trying to push back the turmoil rising in his chest. Sarcasm was always an excellent weapon. “And what did he tell you, Mr. Queen?”

              Max watched as Queen glanced at his friend and seemed to come to a decision.

              “He told me I’m going to kill you.”

              Max felt the incredulous laugh force it’s way out of him, heard it’s more genuine echoes in his partners. “You’re delusional,” Max said. There was one very good reason for him to think so. “You’re zip-cuffed to that chair.”

              Of course, _this guy_ – who shouldn’t know anything more than even basic self defense, if that – has _broken_ the _zip-cuffs_.

              Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.

*~*

              While it was somewhat concerning that Tommy remained under the influence of the tranquilizers until after the paramedics showed up, a large part of Oliver was relieved. It gave him time to arrange the site, make minor adjustments to the scene to fit his story.

              It also gave him time to think. Time to consider the events that occurred and the many ramifications of said events.

              Clearly, Oliver Queen was the target and his best friend Tommy Merlyn brought along as collateral. Their captors might have threatened to hurt Tommy, if the situation had extended long enough.

              The questions about his father were odd and not what he expected when they were first taken. A somewhat standard kidnapping and ransom was what crossed his mind when they were being taken. However, it was clear that the kidnappers were hired. The questions about his father though… those were odd. Very odd. The fact that they were asked raised other questions in Oliver’s mind. Ones that had crossed his mind before, but never with the kind of importance that they now had.

              Questions like: Did someone else know about the list? About his father’s desire to save the city? If so, was this person a friend or another name on the list? Did they know they were one the list?

              Clearly, the playboy-college-dropout Oliver was expected, so their information was limited.

              More and more questions piled on in Oliver’s mind. Too many questions for him to consider trying to sort out, or even think about beyond the most prominent question in his mind.

              Who paid to have Oliver Queen kidnapped? After that question was answered, then Oliver can worry about the reason why.

              When Oliver was satisfied with the arrangement of the site, he dug out his Tommy’s phone from one of their captor’s pockets. He made a panicked phone call and heard a noise behind him. Oliver turned to see Tommy with his eyes open. The glassy and dazed look though, showed that he wasn’t quite lucid yet. He was, however, attempting to roll over with his arms still tied behind his back.

              Oliver found a knife in the same captor’s pocket and used it to cut Tommy free, even as he was talking to the operator over the phone, voice high pitched and wavering.

              As soon as Tommy’s hands were free, he was surging up and away from Oliver. He scrambled backwards on his hands.

              Oliver pulled away from the phone, and spoke to Tommy urgently. “Hey! Hey man! It’s ok!” He rushed to assure him. “Police are on their way.” He changes his voice from the panicked tone he’d been using with the 9-1-1 operator and adds “We’re safe.”

              Tommy froze and gaped at him. “What?”

              “We’re safe,” Oliver repeated. “I’ve already called 9-1-1.”

              “Seriously, man?” Tommy looked like he was having difficulty comprehending anything Oliver was saying. He just kept looking around the warehouse, at Oliver, and at the _bodies_ in shock.

              Oliver nodded slowly, sudden uncertain as to what his friend’s reaction meant. “We’re ok” he said.

              For a long second, Tommy just stared at him before his shoulders slumped. “What the fuck, Oliver?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Did – Did they – ?” His voice cut out.

              Oliver had no idea what he was asking, but he cleared his throat and spoke anyways. “They are dead, I think. Some guy busted in here, I don’t know.”

              Tommy scrubbed the top of his head and swore again. “Fuck, man. Just… fuck.”

              “Yeah,” his friend replies. “That about sums it up.”

              _“Sir? Are you still there?”_

              Oliver remembered the operator was still on the line and returned his focus to the unknown woman’s voice. As he did, he reached down and pulled Tommy to his feet. The man wavered and leaned on his friend as they stumbled their way out of the warehouse and away from the remains of their captors.

              Tommy kept his head down and stayed quiet as they made their way down to the street. He stayed quiet even as the sirens grew louder and flashing lights became visible. He never looked over at the man helping him stay standing.

              For his part, Oliver didn’t know how to handle this quiet version of his friend. Clearly, he was very shaken, but he hadn’t even been this silent after Rebecca Merlyn died. He’d been quieter shortly after the return of his father, but not like this. Uncertain, Oliver only spoke to the operator and didn’t try to push Tommy to respond to him. He just kept an eye on him.

              It was when the police arrived that Oliver stopped watching Tommy.

              It was when the police arrived that Tommy started watching Oliver.

*~*

              Detective Quentin Lance was a man who considered himself to be self-aware. More than the average individual, at least. Usually, he let Hilton interview families and witnesses because they both knew Lance had a… natural tendency toward an abrasive attitude even on a good day.

              He’d been prone to this all his life. It was this personality trait, though, that got him into trouble after Sara disappeared. Trouble that was more than the occasional disagreement with a superior or any of the headstrong women in his life. Trouble that he thought would stop at the bottom of a bottle, but never did when one bottle could so easily become two and four and more than he could count.

              He had five long years of first getting into trouble and then pulling himself out of the hole he very nearly buried himself in.

              Five long years before he saw the news that the moneyed bastard who hurt both his girls was coming home.

              Hope had flared hard in his chest and it was a long day of waiting by the phone until he heard two words – _Lone survivor –_ that nearly drove him back to the sharp burn of whiskey. A long day of waiting was followed by a long night at Laurel’s, fighting _her_ grief and using it to forget about his own. The next morning it was deeply buried and locked away. The anger stayed, but he was fine with that. Lance could use that to his advantage, or use Hilton when he couldn’t.

              Although… the Queens have always seemed to be the exception.

Quentin stared at Oliver, somewhat uncomprehending. He almost pinched his nose to try and gain just a little more patience.

“So, you’re saying that a guy in a green hood showed up and took out three armed kidnappers?”

“Yes,” Queen replied.

Oh. Great. So, Starling has a new nut job. Whether it was Queen or some Robin Hood wannabe remained to be seen.

“Why would he do that?” Quentin asked, taking care that his tone was filled with as much disbelief and scorn as possible. All things considered, Quentin thought he succeeded.

Queen’s face was a little too blank and unassuming for the detective’s comfort. “I don’t know. If you find him, you can ask him.”

Giving Queen up as a lost cause, Quentin turned to the other trust-fund playboy in the room. “And you?”

Merlyn gave his a flustered look. “I’m not really sure what I saw. Blurred shapes, movement?” Merlyn gave a helpless shrug. “I think they gave me the good drugs.” He then gave Quentin a stricken look. “Not that I know what those are.”

Yeah. And this was the guy after Laurel?

Quentin fought hard against the urge to roll his eyes and nearly failed when the perfectly poised Moira Queen asked a question.

“Do you know who the kidnappers were?”

Hilton spoke up. “Professionals. Scrubbed identities and untraceable weapons.”

Quentin’s mouth spread into a snide smile as he said “Likely they’d have gotten a king’s ransom from you for your boy – or, really, a Queen’s.”

He had to give Moira credit. She didn’t twitch. Just met his gaze head on.

“After all,” Quentin continued. “A parent would do anything for their child.”

Quentin expected to be kick out of the mansion shortly after that comment. Walter Steele did it so politely too.

As they left, he could feel Hilton’s watchful gaze. He ignored it. One day, Queen’s luck would run out. He just had to wait.

*~*

John Diggle had worked for multiple clients as a body guard and as a result had seen a variety of reactions to his presence. He’d guarded the upper class individuals who saw him as nothing more than a servant. He’ worked for the men and women who viewed him as a valued tool, a protective shield from them and the rest of the world. He’d protected clients from valid concerns and more than one stalker. Above all, he’d worked with the spoiled rich kids who hated him if only for the fact that he was a witness to everything wrong they might be doing. Oliver Queen was nothing special in that regard.

However, jumping out of a moving car was an impressive skill Diggle had _not_ been expecting.

It was definitely a first.

*~*

The old warehouse was a mess, but the blueprints Oliver had looked over and tools he’d stashed before made it easy for him to get started on renovating the basement to what he’d like.

Turning the rest of the worn down factory into a club would provide an excellent cover for why he was at the building so often. His reputation as a playboy would keep anyone from expecting any real work from him, would make hiding in the basement a valid course of action. He’d planned on setting up the basement a few weeks from now, after he’d had time to settle back in to the expected roles the people surrounding him had for him, but the kidnapping changed that. It meant he needed to get started immediately and lent an urgency to his father’s mission that he never could.

Having his computers set up here would give him better privacy as he researched his targets. He wouldn’t have a well-meaning Raisa interrupting just to bring him dinner.

He also now had a place to work out away from prying eyes and nosy cameras.

Adam Hunt was the first he’d tackle from the list, purely because he recognized his name when he’d seen it in Laurel’s office. Laurel’s involvement made Oliver grit his teeth with every new nefarious fact he learned about Adam Hunt. The man was a menace and it made sense that he was on the list.

That his father would take note of Hunt’s character and carefully write his name down.

He sat at his chair for a time, reading and gathering information.  Eventually, he felt satisfied with what he’d found and he stood, went to his green case.

Opening it up, he pulled out the bow gave it a once over. The deceptively slender weapon was undamaged from his travel and hadn’t been tampered with either. Maybe his case hadn’t even been inspected: the privilege of being privileged. He’d flown back to the US on a private plane after all.

Nestled into the corner of the case was a familiar swath of green fabric attached to equally familiar green leather.

Adam Hunt had been able to pay off, threaten, or kill every person who’d stood in his way.

It was time to break that habit.

*~*

It might have been an innocent assumption, but when Jerry first got his bodyguard license, he thought he’d be making good money protecting rich kids and their rich parents.

              He hadn’t thought about the possibility that he’d end up so desperate for money to pay for yet another mouth to feed that he’d be willing to work for someone with the same rumors floating around as Adam Hunt. He hadn’t thought he’d be willing to turn a blind eye to cruelty and harsh acts against innocents as desperate as him.

              He hadn’t thought he would participate.

              After all, Hunt didn’t always want to get his _own_ hands dirty. He was satisfied with sullying the hands of those under his control.

              Jerry had thought about collecting evidence to give to the police. Evidence that would put Adam Hunt in jail for a long time. He thought about it a lot. Almost did it too.

              Until the paycheck that finally meant the rent was paid on time and there was more than enough left over for groceries and night out with his wife. Then he started to think maybe it would be ok to stay for a little bit longer. He justified it to himself as collecting more evidence, but he’d stopped when the savings in his family’s account finally started to actually exist, with no danger of the checking account going negative every month.

              He’d intended to get out. To stay just long enough to find something else, something better.

              But something else never came along.

              He hid from his wife one night to wash the blood off his hands and quietly iced his knuckles while she slept. The next day he got a bonus, and he was _certain_ he’d get out soon.

              Arrows had never been part of the job.

              There’s a whistle in the air that hits his hears the same time as the punch to his chest. He’s knocked off his feet and too stunned to move as others hit the ground next to him.

              He could feel the blood drain from his body as he listened to glass shatter and the distinct sound a body makes when it hits the ground. He could hear the threats issued by a figure in all green when he felt it.

              “What? What? Just – Just tell me what you want!”

              “You’re going to transfer forty million dollars into Starling City Bank account 1141 by 10 pm tomorrow night.”

              “Or what?”

              “Or I’m going to take it and you won’t like how.”

              “If I see you again, you’re dead.”  

              The weariness in his limbs built and cold seeped into his bones. As his body fought the blood loss by pulling everything from his limbs to his core, Jerry felt it. Resignation settled deep in his gut. This is the only way it was ever going to end.

*~*

              Diggle felt a surge of satisfaction when Oliver Queen froze in the open doorway of the car. He smirked at him and then played it cool as he told Queen to put on his seat belt.

              Queen smiled at him. A small one, with no teeth, and filled with a humorous type of respect.

              And then he climbed into the car.

*~*

              As Oliver walked into the club, he could see that nothing had changed. The lights, the music, the smells. The very atmosphere generated by the people there.

              Five years and nothing was different.

              He saw Tommy, standing alone by one of the bar, carefully drinking his martini.

              Maybe some things had changed.

              Tommy looked up, made eye contact and grinned. Lifting his glass, he ushered for Oliver to join him.

              Oliver spared a single glance at the timer on his phone before he carefully tucked the device away and stepped down the stairs.

              Cheers erupted as people noticed him and the music that began to blast form the speakers was very different than the music that had been playing previously.

              “ _We are the champions, we are the champions!”_

Oliver climbed up onto one of the tables. Turned when he heard his name being called insistently.

              Tommy’s grin was still as big as ever as he handed him a full shot glass.

              He knocked it back and relished the familiar burn. His next statement was entirely truthful and all it took to get the crowd going again.

              “I missed tequila!”

              Oliver kept his smile as more than a few women approached him and welcomed him back to the city. He smiled at them and wondered what Adam Hunt was thinking right now. If he could hear the music from the party and had any inkling of what was coming. He was still hopeful that his request was going to be followed through, but he doubted one meeting was enough to put the fear of God into the man.

              Tommy appeared next to him, clearly looking over at where Dig was watching Oliver form the edge of the crowd. Far enough away to give a semblance of privacy, but not far enough for it to be anything other than an illusion.

              “Hey, does he wipe for you too?” Tommy scoffed. “Now, by my rough estimate, you have not had sex in 1,839 days. As your wingman, I suggest Abby. She’s the blonde dancing next to one who looks like the chick from _Twilight_.”

              Oliver frowned. “What’s _Twilight_?”

              Tommy envied his ignorance. “You are so better off not knowing.” He hit Oliver lightly on the chest. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

              Tommy walked off, by Oliver didn’t follow. Instead, he was frowning as he watched Thea play out a scene Oliver had seen too many times before. The moves were the same, just the players were unexpected in the drug hand-off that went down.

              “Ollie?” His friend asked.

              “Back in a minute.”

              Thea grinned at him, a slightly strained expression as she tried to play off the disapproval on his face. “This party is sick,” she told him.

              “Who let you in here?”

              She chuckled. “Someone who said ‘Right this way, Miss Queen,’” Sometimes it really paid off to have such a well known name.

              It didn’t change the expression on his face. If anything, his frown deepened. Oliver knew this attitude. Know it intimately because he’d had it five years ago before his life took a drastic turn. “You shouldn’t be here,” he tried to tell her.

              “I’m not 12 anymore Oliver,” she said as if he wouldn’t remember basic math nor be able to see the very evident changes in his sister.

              “You’re 17,” he reminded her.

              She tried to point that she was being just like him and that he couldn’t judge her because of that, but Oliver just shook his head. Being just like him meant he could see everything she was going to screw up. The heartache she was going to go through and was going to cause.

              “I don’t ever want you to be like me,” he said.

              The smug look faded from her face, replaced by something he hadn’t seen before.

              He spoke again. “I know it wasn’t easy, but this isn’t the way to handle things, to handle my being gone.”

              “Gone?” Thea interrupted, finally able to grab onto something she could throw back at him. “You weren’t gone. You were dead and so was Dad.” She leaned in closer, ignoring the near gutted look that briefly crossed her brother’s ace. “I may be a disappointment, but this is the best I had to work with.” She turned sharply on her heel, and stormed away from him.

              Stacey could care less about whatever argument Thea and her brother just had. The first word out of her mouth were “You have the fun dip?”

              Thea reached into her bag and felt her heart drop into her stomach when she touched nothing.

*~*

              Dig was grudgingly impressed when he saw Queen toss what was clearly fun of the illegal kind in the trash. He made eye contact with the man and then watched as he turned away.

              Halfway through the turn, he bumped into a very familiar brunette. The air left his lungs in a rush even as he reflexively caught her around the arms.

              “Laurel,” he said. He hastily let go of her and took a step back. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

              She frowned at him. “It… was a split decision.” She smiled ruefully. “I also figured if I didn’t come see you, you’d do something brash and foolish like showing up at my work.”

              Wincing, Oliver ducked his head. “Yeah, Tommy already talked me out of that.”

              Surprised flickered across her face. “Good.” Laurel frowned, brown eyes taking in the scene around them. “Is there someplace quieter we can go?” She asked, eventually.

              He nodded and led her upstairs away from the music.

              “Laurel – “

              “I’ve had a long time to think,” Laurel cut him off. “A long time to think and to come to my own conclusions. Five years of waiting, and grieving, and anger.”

              “Yeah,” Oliver agreed. “I was going to come see to tell you I’m sorry.”

              “I know you were,” she assured him. “But I don’t want your apology. I’m not ready to accept it,” she admitted softly. She turned away from him, so that he couldn’t see the look on her face. Laurel knew she wasn’t behaving the way he expected, but she didn’t care. Over the past five years, the lawyer likes to think that she grew up. That she moved on from the tragedies her family experienced. Most nights, though, she knows better. It’s what drove her away from her bed tonight and into the club. The haunting knowledge that if she didn’t set the terms know, things were going to spiral out of her control again and that… that was unacceptable.

              Oliver was saying something, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. She was tired and longing for her bed. She probably wouldn’t get much sleep as it was, but something was always better than nothing.

              “Oliver, I have one question for you tonight.” She spoke over his stumbled apology. She blocked out the hint of yearning coloring his voice. Forced everything down, every bubbling emotion inside her. “I have one question that I want you to answer, and then I’m going to walk out of here.” She straightened and met his eyes. “I’m going to walk out of here and you’re not going to follow me. You’re not going to talk to me and you’re not going to use Tommy to pass me messages.” She doubted he’d do any of those things, but she had to make herself clear.

              His expression was stricken for only a moment before it was hidden with a careless and cocky shrug. “Fine.”

              “Did she suffer?” The words came out much more like a whisper than she’d wanted.

              His eyes softened as he shook his head. “No.”

              She straightened her shoulders and turned away from him. At the top of the stairs, she turned back to him and said “I’ll come to you when I want that apology.”

              He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone chimed.

              Laurel used his distraction to get away without any more words being spoken. As she walked down the cold street to where she parked her car, she fought hard against the sudden constriction of her throat and the tears in her eyes.

              The immature boy she’d fancied herself in love with was gone. Later, she’d allow herself a moment to morn that fact. Just a moment because he was the asshole who slept with her sister, but still. He deserved a moment, one she hadn’t yet been able to give him. Now she thought she just might be able to. For a very specific reason, she might have the strength to put her anger aside for a little while.

              The boy was gone, but the man who replaced him was similar. Similar enough, that she could still read some of his expressions. That he could still behave in similar ways.

              He was similar enough for her to know that he lied to her.

              He sister didn’t die easy, but…

              She appreciated the effort.

 

*~*

High above the flashing lights of yet another wild party, Adam Hunt wondered if being hunted by a Robin Hood wanna-be was a sign that he was hitting a new low point in his life. His income was higher than ever, so he didn’t think so, but still… Arrows? Either the worst or the best way to go, reputation-wise, but he was disinclined to view it positively. Generally, Hunt considered it a sign that something was going right when someone was trying to kill him.

But arrows and a green hood?

No. Thanks, but…

No.

The man in the green hood wasn’t insane only for using archaic weaponry, but also for the rather simplistic demand he made.

Demanding money? Like 40 million dollars was really going to hurt to lose?

The way Hunt ran business… it was never about the money. Well, not only about the money. What the ‘hood guy’ was demanding was cheap change compared to the deep pockets that existed in the city. No the way Hunt ran business was about a different kind of currency. It was about pride. It was about reputation.

It was about power.

Even if all his guards died, Hunt wasn’t going to cave. Not when it meant giving up power to a Robin Hood wanna-be.

When he heard the guy went out the window, Hunt snorted bitterly in the cop’s face. All that, and he didn’t even get to rip off the fuckers hood? What a disappointment.

Adam Hunt never noticed the thin black cylinder that had been strategically dropped and rolled under his desk. It was an unassuming object and his attention was never drawn to it. The clean-up crew would find it later, long after the device had done its job.

No one would speak of it. Not with the way Hunt was frothing at the mouth over losing $40 million in a single night.

*~*

              A few days later, Tommy was walking Laurel back to her car after an impromptu dinner.

              “So, I saw you at the party the other night,” he started off slowly during a lull in the conversation. “I saw you and Oliver head off together.”

              Laurel fought the urge to roll her eyes. “There’s nothing between Oliver and I. Not anymore.”

              “Ah,” he said. Clearly, it went as bad as he thought it would. “And here I thought the only thing between you and Oliver was us.”

              She caught his look and stopped walking. “Why do you want us to be an ‘us’?” She sighed. “I mean, come on, we both know you aren’t a one girl kind of guy.”

              “Then why did you come out to dinner with me tonight, if you’re so sure of that?” Tommy asked, petulantly.

              Turning, she pulled her car keys out of her bag. “A lot of things changed during the last five years, a lot of people. I’m starting to think you changed more than I thought.”

              He smirked. “Only in the best ways.”

              She rolled her eyes this time. “Right. You’re a good friend, Tommy.” She opened her car door.

              He stepped close. “What did you say to Oliver that night? He’s been acting a little… well I can’t say strange, but stranger than I expected.”

              Pausing in her movements, she shook her head. “Tommy, the Oliver that came back really isn’t the Oliver that left. Word of advice,” she leaned into his space grinning as his eyes widened a little. “Don’t expect him to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know what you think! Clearly, some of the characters are behaving a bit differently that we have viewed them to (Laurel will be the big one, I think). This is just my take on how soulmates and marks would have caused certain changes and altered expectations. 
> 
> If there are any parings you desire to see, let me know. I have a few that are firmly planned out, but a few more are up in the air. 
> 
> If you can see how "Binary Sea" fits, you get an imaginary cookie. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI, I'll be picking a song/verse to put at the beginning of every chapter. This song and/or verse is what I've been listening to that has inspired either a certain character portrayal or an event in the chapter or maybe a certain plot point that is first evident in said chapter. I think this chapter's verse was a little... self-evident.


End file.
